


Nuit de Noces

by iberiandoctor (jehane)



Category: French History RPF, Political RPF - France 19th c.
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, First Time, M/M, Wedding, Wedding Night, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 15:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8995606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehane/pseuds/iberiandoctor
Summary: (Baby's first sub.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kainosite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kainosite/gifts).



Caroline Henriette Gisquet was very cross. On any other evening, she would have descended into a tearing rage, but she knew high colour did not flatter her complexion, and she was determined that nobody at her wedding should see how she really felt.

The day had passed in a cloud of perfect fury. She had donned her mother's antique Chantilly lace, had been paraded down the aisle of Eglise Saint-Paul-Saint-Louis on her father's arm amidst bouquets of roses and immortels and violets, and presented to her groom like a trophy. Jules-Ernest had parted her veil with unsteady fingers, taken one look at her face and pressed his lips against her cheek instead.

Even Fr. Derond could not meet her eye during his homily on Paul's letter to the Ephesians, which unfortunately happened to discuss the propriety of wives submitting to their husbands in marriage.

The wedding feast had been even more interminable. Endless successive speeches by her father, by her new father-in-law, a fatuous idiot who seemed even more empty-headed than her new husband, by all of her father's governmental colleagues; too-rich, sumptuous food she couldn't eat; the best wines from her father's cellar which she could only sip. She had kept her eyes on her plate, as was expected of a virgin bride, and hoped that the guests believed that her heightened rosy pallor was a modest blush rather than what it actually betokened. 

Finally the speeches came to an end, the wine drunk and the feasting over, and her father and mother each gave her a meaningful look.

"It's time for us to give our best wishes to the bridal couple," her father said. The assorted guests rose and toasted them with charged glasses and applause. Jules-Ernest held her chair for her as she got to her feet and swept out of the dining room without waiting for anyone in a real breach of etiquette.

Her parents caught up with her in the hallway to her bridal chambers. 

"Petite, it's customary for a young bride's parents to convey her to her marriage bed while imparting to her certain words of wisdom concerning the same." The note of reproach in her father's voice hinted that he'd been looking forward to such conveyance; certainly she knew how fond of formal traditions, even though he was not a particularly traditional man. It was true that he had never spoken to her of such things before now, but perhaps he'd been saving them for this very occasion.

Caroline wasn't in the mood to hear it. She said, sharply, "You've imparted enough wisdom over the years, Father. Rest assured, I will do my duty. But you raised me to bend the knee to no one, and I will not start with the man you picked out for me."

It wasn't her place to question her father's choice; she knew he favoured the airhead in more ways than one. She supposed that the young man was pretty, and that he would sire pretty children, so if she was going to marry anyone, this selection did make a certain amount of sense. But she would sooner cut off her right arm than submit herself to any husband, never mind what the Church had to say on the subject.

Her father looked taken aback. "My darling, I would never expect you to bend the knee to anyone. Jules-Ernest would not expect it either, I can assure you."

The clouds of rage parted somewhat, and a ray of sunshine peered through. "Really? I thought husbands in general required submission." She frowned deeply before she realised what she was doing, and smoothed a hand over her brow. "It's not only the priests. It's what Madame Felice says, too, and Minette."

"Not all husbands," her mother said, incarnadine lips quirking at both corners. "And I would rather you did not take advice on marriage from your mathematics tutor or your lady's maid."

Caroline considered this. She well knew her mother subjected herself to no one's authority, and also had her favourites amongst both men and women. But then again, there was no one like her mother in all of Paris. 

Her mother continued, "Your father and I deliberated for some time about this, child, but at the end we felt you were old enough to be given some choice in the matter."

"I know you have always practised with your crop, Noemi, and it is up to you if you wish to retain it still. But we believed that now you are a married woman, you would enjoy a different equipage," her father said. 

It was true he had used her childhood name, but what he extended to her was an item that most certainly did not feature in her childhood, or anyone's.

With shaking fingers, Caroline took custody of her parents' wedding gift. They did not say anything more, nor did they need to. The door to a new world stood open before her, and she held her breath as she stepped through it at last.

  


*

  


When she finally entered her bridal chamber, Minette having loosened her hair from its stiff coiffure and dressed her in a nightgown from her wedding trousseau, she found her new husband had already been delivered to her bed.

He had been divested of his wedding finery, and garbed in satin that had the sheen of a rosy pink pearl. The nightshirt was open at the neck, displaying a long line of throat and supple, pliant flesh. His blond hair curled over his forehead like a nervous angel's.

He was _very_ pretty. 

"Mme. Nay," he said, not looking at her, "forgive me for speaking out of turn, but we have not had the opportunity before now to discuss the affairs of the bedroom, and more specifically about our wedding night."

"What is there to discuss?" she enquired, gratified to note that her voice was steady. "There is only this: I wish you to please me, in every respect and to the best of your ability."

He bent his head to her. "My lady, I am yours to command. And I hope you'll find that your father, my Lord, has made sure that I am entirely able, in every respect."

The flower-like curve of his neck was extremely compelling. Caroline could feel her heart beating faster, knew she was getting wet between her thighs. "We'll see about that," she said, making herself speak briskly. "Please turn around."

"Yes, my lady," he said, and got compliantly onto all fours on her bedspread. Under the silky nightshirt was the swell of his backside, and the jut of manhood beyond it. So it would seem her pretty groom was telling the truth. Perhaps this was why her father treasured him, and had also wished to entrust her with this treasure.

She tightened her grasp on the handle of her new whip. The embossed leather flexed in her hand like a living thing, as if it belonged nowhere else. 

She heard the ringing note of command in her voice as she said, "Let's begin."


End file.
